


Cool, Thanks

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: 5+1 Things, Early Days, Fainting, Fights, First Impressions, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Josh would sell his soul to buy a one-way ticket to Tylerland. Or his kidney — he doesn’t know which one would work better.---Five times Josh tries to impress Tyler and one time he doesn’t need to do anything.





	Cool, Thanks

**1.**

In Josh’s mind, Tyler Joseph is just a guy who gets carried across the venue where Josh’s band is playing one night. Tyler is semi-conscious, his t-shirt is drenched in sweat, his face is all pallid-green as the security guards fish him out of the crowd. Tyler’s position doesn’t look comfortable when a security guard throws him over his shoulder like a sack and hauls him away from the pit.

Josh doesn’t miss a bit, his drumset is his castle.

Maybe, Josh gets a little worried, thinking back of that poor dude while he’s hanging out with his almost-ex-bandmates at the bar later.

“Tyler Joseph passed out during our show,” Tim laughs and sips on his beer. “We’re so damn good.”

House of Heroes is so damn good, right.

Josh feels bad for leaving them, but that’s the curse for all the session musicians.

Their new drummer is doubtlessly gonna be better than him.

 

***

The next time Josh meets Tyler in person, it’s a chilly evening right after _Tyler’s band’s show;_  Josh has seen them live, Josh can even say he likes Tyler’s passion mingled with his weirdness. But most importantly, Josh hasn’t blacked out during their performance.

He’s sure Tyler was spying on him while he was singing, screaming and twitching next to his piano.

Josh is surprised that he and Tyler have at least one mutual friend; Chris deserves the world — just a good guy with big problems. This _good guy_ is currently trying to make Josh change his minds, but Josh’s stubbornness has always been a thing.

“Tyler needs a drummer, I don’t know how long I’ll manage,” Chris sighs. “You definitely should try.”

If Chris leaves, Nick is going to quit the band too, and Josh has no rabbits in his hat to impress Tyler.

“I don’t want to work with Tyler,” Josh grunts, kicking the stones down the road.

Chris lets out a small laughter.

“He’s been talking about you since he saw you for the first time.”

Josh sweats nervously as they walk, approaching Tyler’s van parked beside the back door of the club. Here are other dudes, too, all of Tyler’s friends who help him during the shows, and Tyler’s innocent question sounds like a marriage proposal.

“Hey, bro. Wanna practice with me?”

Tyler isn’t used to get any _no’s_.

Tyler’s band is about to split.

Josh is standing so close he can see the ant clambering up the strap of Tyler’s backpack.

“You’re a good drummer,” Tyler compliments.

Josh keeps hypnotizing the ant with his gaze.

“You fainted.”

Tyler rolls his eyes.

“Just had a bad day.”

Josh can relate.

“Look at this,” he pokes the ant with his fingernail.

Tyler finally notices it. 

“Ew,” he comments.

And, before he can take the insect off his backpack, Josh catches it between his fingers and puts it into his mouth. Maybe, he wants to make a fool of himself so Tyler would never talk to him again.

“Ew,” Tyler says again.

Josh chews, mouth full of bitter and sour taste, the fragments of the fragile body crunch slightly. It’s tiny, but it scrapes his throat as he swallows. Tyler and his still-bandmates stare at Josh with their mouths agape.

“Um,” Josh hums.

He’s acting like a five-year-old sometimes.

He’s waiting for the catastrophe to begin, but it never happens.

“Cool. Thanks,” Tyler’s fingertip touches the spot where the ant was.

If anybody is going to ask Josh what’s going on, he’s going to chicken out.

“So, what about the practice?” Tyler asks with a slight wince. “This Friday, maybe?”

That’s how Josh understands he’s in the band now.

 

**2.**

“Josh, don’t do it!” Tyler yells. He tries to lock his fingers around Josh’s wrist, but Josh retracts his hand.

The water is black and stormy as he looks down. The waves are gonna swallow him if he falls, his legs are trembling.

“Josh, please, you’re scaring me,” Tyler pleads.

Josh laughs.

Tyler looks funny when he’s so scared — a little squirrel with crooked teeth and big eyes. But _come on_ , Josh is incredibly good at keeping up his balance. He’s standing on the railings of the Main Street Bridge and waves his arms not to give up to the swooshes of wind.

“I’m not gonna jump.”

“I know.”

Tyler sniffles. And Josh turns, walking a straight line down the metal bar. Tyler staggers beside him, half glaring at him, half crying though he yet denies it.

“If you fall, you’re out of the band.”

Oily water splashes, salty air blocks Josh’s windpipes as he sways like an amateur acrobat. He gets anxious whenever Tyler crowdsurfs or climbs up the shaky scaffolding, or the speaker, or —

Tyler doesn’t look impressed.

Tyler sniffles again.

“Crying?” Josh smirks.

“Allergy.”

Tyler wipes his nose on the sleeve of his blue and white windcheater. Josh is wearing a matching windcheater — they’re a two-piece band, they have their own style. The clouds above them rumble, a group of tourists scurries away, holding up their umbrellas as the rain begins to drizzle.

“Josh, come on, get down.”

Josh hates the heights with every fiber of his being — but here’s the adrenaline, a toxic explosion in Josh’s veins that makes him do such crazy things for Tyler.

Tyler goggles at him.

“What?” Josh peers into the dizzying depths.

“You’re in danger,” Tyler tugs at the laces in his hood. “I don’t like it.”

Tyler doesn’t like getting _impressed_ , Josh admits.

Tyler’s sleeves are wet as he wipes his face again.

“Are you sure it’s just your allergy?” Josh scowls.

“Yes!” Tyler snaps back at him.

Josh sighs and jumps away from the waters, stumbling and landing on his knees, and Tyler’s hands comb through his matted hair along with the wind. The rain gets harder, the sky is gloomy and grey, but Josh is happy to feel the solid asphalt underneath his kneecaps. Here’s also Tyler’s terror, but Josh keeps laughing like a maniac — he just wants Tyler to know he’s okay. The cars pass by as they sit, but then Tyler gets up with a verdict —

“Josh, you’re out of the band.”

 

**3.**

“Hey, lesbian!”

This guy isn’t that muscular, but Josh would like to have Ben to cover his back right now. Or maybe Michael would knock the bastard out just using his pinky. But they’re still in the venue, because Tyler’s _I’m-not-a-baby_ vibe can actually kill a man.

It’s so sad that Tyler’s vibe can only kill metaphorically.

What a shitty evening. They’ve just started dragging out the parts of Josh’s drumset, but two dudes around their age don’t want to leave them alone.

“Wassup, lesbian?” the guy tries again while the other one begins to unbuckle his pants.

“What the heck are you doing?” Josh is furious to protect his drums and Tyler, but the bully is right about to tug his underwear down.

“I think your stuff is _too dry_ ,” he sneers. Josh understands.

It’s even more offensive than calling Tyler a lesbian.

Tyler shouldn’t have told that story during their show — about that one time when he accidentally said he was a _lesbian_ instead of a _Lebanese_ in front of the whole class.

Josh regrets that Tyler has brought it up.

Josh doesn’t regret he joined the band.

Josh doesn’t think twice before punching the dude in the jaw, sending him stumbling over his own shoes and away from the drumset. Here’s a group of people gathering beside the back door — Josh doesn’t crave to get beaten in front of everyone.

“What a lame band name!”

“I bet they’re fucking each other —”

Tyler’s fist slams into the hater’s filthy mouth. Josh gloats, because when it comes to the band, Tyler’s rage takes over. But it doesn’t make them good fighters. Strong hands grip Josh’s shoulders while Tyler is already lying on the ground, covering his face with his forearms to block out the blows. Josh tries to rush to him but gets shoved aside, face first into a brick wall of the Basement club; his cheek stings at the contact with the rough surface. People gasp; some of them take their phones and start filming the scrimmage, somebody offers to call the police. Josh doesn’t want to be known by _this_ ; he squirms and sets his aching arms free, he turns around just to see Tyler standing on his feet again.

Their black minivan and Michael are their saviors.

And Ben is here too.

Josh’s right eye feels smaller and a little too squinty; Tyler presses his knuckles to the corner of his lips, his Mickey Mouse t-shirt is stained red.

“The show’s over,” Michael sighs with the intonation of a typical suburban mother. “Pack the instruments and let’s go.”

Here are at least fifteen fans who have almost witnessed the Epic Fight.

The Epic Failure.

Their attackers try to disappear.

“Oh, I forgot something,” Michael smiles, his hand is on the back of the guy’s hoodie, nearly lifting him off the ground. Ben comes to the one who tried to pee on Josh’s drums while Mark takes the pictures sitting on the fence as the sneakiest paparazzi he is.

“Never try to pick on my boys,” Michael says. Gently. He’s a good friend.

He’s a good friend and he doesn’t need to beat the shit out of anyone to show how mad he is. It takes one _gentle_ kick in the butt to get rid of the insulter. The other one is left there pantless; their _fans_ film it too, they laugh.  

Tyler giggles and Josh giggles along with him.

 

***

They don’t have a proper first aid kit here in the van so Josh holds a cold can of RedBull over his black eye while Tyler dabs the cut on his lip with a paper towel. Mark can’t look at them without chuckling as they drive to Cincinnati for the next show.

Their bruises are proofs for their immortal friendship.

“You’re my bro, I’d die for you,” Tyler informs him while Michael stops the van beside the drugstore. Tyler bites his lip while he speaks, so his ‘bro’ sounds mostly like ‘bwo’.

Josh’s pride tastes like blood.

“I’d die for you too,” Josh whispers back, not bothering about how _gay_ it sounds.

They’re moving on.

 

**4.**

“You look blue,” Tyler chortles, covering his nose with his palm. There are these tiny crinkles around his eyes as he smiles, like tiny sunrays.

Blue hair, red gauges, a red t-shirt to match — Josh doesn’t want to crack the mirror in their dressing room when he sees his reflection.

“My man looks fresh,” Tyler states as he takes a picture of Josh. “Do you think it sounds like a good Instagram post?”

“Sure, it’s gonna blow up your notifications,” Josh says, extremely proud of himself.

Josh thinks it’s a big honor for him to appear on Tyler’s Instagram again; it’s not that Josh needs validation — he genuinely enjoys cheering Tyler up. Though he still hasn’t washed the hair-dye from the top of his ears and from his fingernails.

Tyler smiles.

Tyler always says his smile is dumb, but then he adds he’s totally in love with Josh’s lopsided grin, he says he’s grateful to have such a handsome drummer next to him. Tyler is excited about Josh getting a full-sleeve tattoo, a tree — it’s still unfinished, but Josh and his tattoo-artist are working on it; Tyler supports Josh, and Josh is in love with Tyler’s personality. Josh would sell his soul to buy a one-way ticket to Tylerland. Or his kidney — he doesn’t know which one would work better.

“New looks are important,” Tyler nods, staring at his phone.

“I’m about to like it before you even post it,” Josh ruffles his still damp hair.

He’s a little selfish, but Tyler laughs again, just before pecking Josh’s freshly shaven cheek, and Josh almost dies.

“Just wanted to check if your skin is soft without that beard,” Tyler says jokingly. “It’s a bro-kiss.”

Josh wonders if it’s even possible to get dumped by his _bro_.

 

**5.**

The skin above Josh’s knee stings a little as the ink keeps biting it.

“I can’t believe I did it,” Josh mumbles, looking at **_Tyler_** on his leg in bold black letters.

“It was your idea,” Tyler shrugs. “Who knew we’d get the same amount of votes.”

Tyler sneaks into Josh’s hotel rooms way too often.

Tyler’s wearing nothing but his briefs, and Josh blushes at the thought that his handwriting is so ugly. He was ready to get Tyler’s name tattooed on him, but he wasn’t ready to do that for Tyler; his hands were shaking and those rubber gloves were about to slip.

_jOSH_

“I’m trying to pronounce your name the way you wrote it,” Tyler laughs, poking at his thigh. “J-o-sh, or wait— J-OSH! It needs some exclamation marks,” Tyler rubs his chin. “Josh! Sounds nice. One day, I’m gonna do a Josh-chant during our show, just for you, my bro,” Tyler is so enthusiastic Josh wants to clamp a hand over his mouth.

There’s a lot of meaning in the word ‘bro’ Tyler keeps using since the day they met, but — your _bro_ doesn’t break into the bathroom when you’re taking a shower there;

Your _bro_ doesn’t pull the curtain covering your bunk while you’re having some extremely private moment with your hand down your pants;

Your _bro_ doesn’t start a conversation about masturbation during the interviews;

Josh just sums it up and comes to conclusion that Tyler is not his _bro_.

“You’re not my bro,” Josh grouches.

“Excuse me?”

Tyler is like an ice sculpture beside the bed, a very tanned one. A very pissed one.

“I mean… you’re more than just my bro,” Josh corrects himself.

Because Josh’s _bro_ wouldn’t get so offended at this, but maybe, his _boyfriend_ would.

“Wow,” Tyler sounds satisfied as he winks at Josh. “I’m not kicking you out of the band then.”

Tyler is an ignorant bro.

Josh blows him a kiss.

 

**+1.**

Tyler climbs higher than usual, crawling up the steel scaffolding and making it on top of it successfully. As if he wasn’t crying when Josh once scared the daylights out of him on the bridge in Columbus. Well, that was just his allergy. But now, it’s a true confrontation and Tyler is a champion, Josh knows, because _come on_ — Tyler has just recovered after a violent laryngitis that threatened to leave him lying in bed with no voice until the end of the tour.

Tyler is strong and stubborn despite the leftover fever.

“And now I just sit in silence!”

Josh sees his silhouette on top of the scaffolding, a tiny ant and a loud yelp, and he waves his hand as he chants the words, a true messiah above the crowd. Josh keeps up the beat, but his attention is locked on Tyler no matter how hard he tries to conceal his worry.

When the song is over, Tyler crouches down to make it down from the height, step by step, holding his mic and nodding at their crew.

They’re ready for the encore.

They have their own stunts now.

A drum isle, the platforms and these lovely confetti at the end of the show. But Tyler’s tricks are always gnawing at Josh’s heart. He’d like to be a scaffolding now, just to hold Tyler in his metal arms, or he wishes he were an elevator to get him down safely.

But he’s just a _bro_ at the drums.

Tyler climbs down, he’s moving too fast, and Josh is about to cross his fingers and his drumsticks; he simply can’t believe his eyes when Tyler’s fingers uncurl, and his foot misses the bar, and —

“He’s not that high,” Josh whispers. “Tyler!” he screams.

Tyler is still about ten feet above the stage, he tries to get back his grip at the scaffolding, but his balance is lost, his frame is plummeting.

Josh storms off his seat, but he’s a terrible friend.

Josh is two seconds late.

The techs cut off the background music; the thud of Tyler’s bones connecting with the stage is deafening.

The whole arena falls silent.

And then the mayhem begins.

“There’s no blood,” Josh wipes his face with his alien mask. “There’s no blood.”

Sweat washes away his red eyeshadow, his crimson hair-dye — it stains the fabric, dark smudges on the green. Josh doesn’t care.

Stage medics appear out of nowhere, they bustle around and take Tyler’s balaclava off to check his head, and Josh is right — there’s no blood. There’s no signs of consciousness either. Josh struggles when Michael pushes him into a backstage corridor where they can’t see the tragedy; they bypass a deadly pale Mark who’s still holding his camera, looking at it with disgust.

“I took a shot,” he says blankly. “Accidentally. Don’t even know if I should delete it now.”

It’s not something Josh wants to hear right now; he just needs to fight his way back onstage where paramedics are laying Tyler down onto the stretcher.

“Don’t delete anything yet,” Josh barks, terrified by the scene he sees out of the corner of his eye. “Tyler will want to see it once he wakes up.”

Josh can’t stand any _what-if’s_.

He’s about to drop to his knees and pray.

 

***

“The flashes were too bright. I just got a little dizzy,” Tyler nearly chokes on the water Josh tries to pour into his mouth.

Josh holds the glass in his shaking hands, Tyler’s teeth chatter as he attempts to spit out more excuses.

Today is the worst day in Josh’s life that’s now slowly turning to the best one. Tyler is going to recover pretty soon, the doctors say — he’s gotten concussed, here are multiple hematomas on his back, his shoulder is dislocated, but they’ve already fixed it. He’s a lucky one — zero broken bones. No upcoming shows too.

Tyler’s black paint is faded, here are no manifestations of Blurryface.

Tyler’s black paint is replaced with bruises.  

“I want to either hug you or slap you, because _what the fuck_?” Josh blurts out, heat creeping up his neck. He doesn’t mean to swear in a hospital ward, but this situation is extraordinary.

And Tyler keeps being Tyler.

“I just wanted to impress you.”

“What?”

“Our shows,” Tyler starts lazily. “I just want you to think that I’m a little more than I am,” he rumples the corner of the blanket in his hands. “You’re doing a good job at keeping me grounded. You’re motivating me, and I try to motivate you back — with those tweets and songs, just because — just because I care.”

It strikes Josh like a lightning.

It strikes, and Josh has been so blind and stupid — it took an injured Tyler to comprehend it.

“Oh.”

“But I was bound to fail,” Tyler utters, looking faint again. “Because that’s who I am —”

Self-punishment is Tyler’s trademark style.

And, before Tyler starts scolding himself again, Josh does a thing he should’ve done years ago — it’s the only one option left. Josh smirks and Tyler wrinkles his nose when Josh leans over to peck his lips, lightly, just to taste what it feels like — it feels like he’s falling in love with _his bro_ , again and again. Josh gets a little more than just a peck but a little less than he wants to get from Tyler. Their first kiss is short and awkward and _not French_ ; mostly because they have no time to flaunt their amazing skills.

Josh is finally getting out of a friendzone and slams the door shut behind his back.

“Am I hallucinating?” Tyler asks, his bruise-rimmed eyes are still unfocused.

“No, not now,” Josh responds calmly though his heart is a kick drum in his ribcage.

Tyler gives him a timid, almost childish nod.

The mattress underneath Tyler is soft, the covers thrown over him are thick, which makes the warmth spread across Josh’s chest; Tyler is high on the liquids dripping into his system through the IV, and Josh is high on Tyler, on this certain hospital scent. He’s careful, gentle, not to stir Tyler’s injured and immobilized arm hidden in a blue shoulder sling. _Blue is the sign of defeat_ , it’s their own theory, but Tyler isn’t that wrecked. He’s a winner and so is Josh.

These white walls make Josh squint his bloodshot eyes, make him too insecure.

“Mark took a picture of you falling,” Josh whispers, ruining a little intimacy they’ve had.

Tyler chuckles, his grin is here, the crinkles around his eyes are here.

“Cool. Thanks.”

Tyler’s smile is almost as good as a French kiss, but this time Josh is definitely not trying to impress him.

Tyler is already impressed.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote it during power outages


End file.
